


dissecting the bird

by xdandelionxbloomx



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt went to jail briefly for battery because he got mixed up with the wrong people, Jaskier is a traveling musician catching rides across the USA, Kaer Morhen is a ranch in Kentucky, M/M, Title from Dissect The Bird by John Craigie, a classic rock soundtrack, just don't waste it this was not a mistake, the modern road trip au fic that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdandelionxbloomx/pseuds/xdandelionxbloomx
Summary: Geralt turned back around and pulled up beside him, putting the car in park after he’d stopped. It idled, a sort of low purr, Geralt leaning to hook fingers around the handle of the passenger door, pushing it open and settling back heavily in his seat.“Get in.” He said, gruffly, even as the man started clambering into the car, all wide, bright blue eyes and a smile, dust caked face looking far happier than it should be.-A road trip and the realization that perhaps there is hope yet.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 120





	dissecting the bird

**Author's Note:**

> This idea wouldn't leave me alone while I worked on the TSV and the powerful!Jaskier fic, so this one will be updated inbetween. I'm not sure how long this will be, but here it is! I hope you enjoy.

Eskel clapped him on the shoulder, brows drawn together as he searched Geralt’s face. 

Geralt, meanwhile, wanted nothing more than to disappear until the scrutiny. 

A heavy gust of wind kicked up a swirl of dust that made Geralt narrow his eyes, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 

“You’re gonna be okay?” Eskel squeezed his shoulder and it was then that Geralt cracked, shrugging off the other man’s hand. 

“I’ll be fine.” He said, gruffly, and twirled his keys around his finger before catching them in his palm. 

“I want to trust that, but I also  _ know _ you.” Eskel rolled his eyes, but took a step back and gave Geralt his space. 

“I’ll be  _ fine _ .” Geralt insisted, and then gestured at the road that sprawled out into the horizon. “I’m headed home.” 

A pause. 

“Don’t let that old man bully you, yeah?” Eskel asked, digging out his own keys, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Geralt threatened and pulled open the car door, the creak familiar and oddly comforting. 

“What’s he gonna do about it? Hunt me down?” Eskel joked, something of a smile tugging at his lips, but Geralt wasn’t unaware of the worry in the line between his slightly furrowed brows. 

The ‘65 Mustang groaned and complained as he settled into the driver’s seat. “Don’t tempt him.” Geralt pulled the door shut with a satisfying  _ thunk _ that echoed around them, reaching out to pat at the dash afterwards. “Alright, girl. Do me a favor and make it to the next gas station, yeah?” 

He turned the key and tipped his head back in relief when the engine started up, growling as Geralt rolled down the window. 

“Take care of yourself, Geralt.” Eskel said, reaching out to press a hand to the door, leaning down a bit to meet Geralt’s gaze. 

Geralt held it for a moment, turning his eyes back to the road afterwards. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. You, too.” He muttered, but it still carried the discomfort, the strain at having to acknowledge that he  _ worried _ people. 

( _ Geralt did not like to think he worried people. He had worked all his life not to be a weight. _ )

Geralt sat for a moment longer, felt Eskel’s gaze lingering heavy on him even as he stepped back, tapping the roof of the Mustang with a gentle touch - like patting the flank of a horse. 

Geralt’s eyes shut for just a moment and then he was pressing the pedal down - back wheels spun in place, kicking up dust as the Mustang roughly lurched forward like a racehorse out of derby gates. 

He set his gaze to the place where Earth met sky and let her unwind, refusing to look in the rearview and see Eskel shrinking rapidly. 

( _ Behind Eskel the main building of Attre County Jail also shrunk in size and Geralt’s shoulders did not even begin to relax until it had disappeared from sight.) _

+++

It took an hour and a half for Geralt to grow bored of hearing the engine. 

He reached out and turned on the radio, grimacing at the white noise that hissed at him. He spun the little knob, until something filtered through - 

Grainy, a bit tinny from the shitty speakers in the car, but very clearly there the sound of a guitar filled the cabin. 

Geralt heaved a sigh, resettling his hand back on the wheel, his other arm propped up on the door, hand hanging out to just feel the wind. 

_ The Rolling Stones _ wailed, albeit quietly, and Geralt tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. 

The road stretched out in front of him - 

It’d take a solid three or four days to reach Kaer Morhen - a horse ranch tucked away in a deep valley in Kentucky. 

Vesemir ran the place and subsequently used it to help troubled kids. It was the only thing that had kept Geralt from ending up in jail when he was younger-- 

And he’d still gotten there. 

He didn’t think he’d be able to look the old man in the face any longer. 

( _ Geralt had sworn he’d do better and look at him now. Just as much trouble and just as terrible everyone thought he’d be. _ ) 

Geralt’s hand went white knuckle on the steering wheel and he heaved  _ another _ sigh. “First thing’s first - you’re getting better speakers. Then we’ll fix all the other problems. Alright, Roach?” 

The car’s engine continued its regular growl, but Geralt liked to think she understood and that she was pleased enough. 

With wide open spaces and not another car in sight, Geralt took the chance to press the pedal down suddenly to feel her throw herself forward, to feel her eat up the pavement. 

+++

Geralt would like to know what the hell someone was doing in the middle of fucking  _ nowhere _ \- no exits even to be seen for a gas station or a town or-- 

He’d seen the figure in the distance and honestly thought he just wasn’t close enough to see it clearly because that certainly couldn’t be a person. 

The last sign he’d seen said next rest stop  _ eighty miles out _ . 

And yet - 

And yet, when he got closer it became very clear that was a  _ man _ . He was carrying a guitar case on his back and a bag in hand - 

He turned around to glance over his shoulder and Geralt didn’t get a good look at his face as he lifted an arm and stuck out his thumb. 

Geralt groaned. 

He pressed the pedal further to the floor and roared past the man, dust reaching after the car, swirling at the side of the road. 

It took only two seconds before Geralt was glancing in the rearview and watching the man’s arm fall. 

Geralt gritted his teeth and looked back to the road. He got five minutes further down the asphalt before he pulled over to the shoulder, pressing both of his hands to the steering wheel and turning his gaze towards the roof of the car. 

He could keep driving. He could leave him there, someone else would come by. 

( _ When? How long had the guy been walking? What kind of person would it be? How much water and food did he have? _ )

“I swear to God.”

Geralt turned the car around. 

His approach was much slower and he passed the man, only glancing at the puzzled expression, the way he stopped walking. 

Geralt turned back around and pulled up beside him, putting the car in park after he’d stopped. It idled, a sort of low purr, Geralt leaning to hook fingers around the handle of the passenger door, pushing it open and settling back heavily in his seat. 

“Get in.” He said, gruffly, even as the man started clambering into the car, all wide, bright blue eyes and a smile, dust caked face looking far happier than it should be. 

The guitar case got pushed to what little backseat the car had, and the man settled the other bag in his lap, digging through it to pull out-- 

Bread? 

Geralt didn’t question it, only put the car into drive, taking off and plastering the man to his seat with the force of the sudden speed. 

“ _ Thank you _ . I’ve been walking for ages. Thought I was going to have to camp out here. I mean, I’ve done it before, but I prefer civilization. I mean, what if coyotes got me?” 

_ Shit _ . The man was a talker. Of course he was. 

Of fucking course. 

Geralt rolled his eyes towards the roof of the car before back to the blacktop, puffing out a breath. 

“Don’t thank me. I can still kick you out.” He grunted, and glanced over to see the man eating the bread, looking far too pleased with himself as he settled back in his seat. 

“Mhm.” The man squirmed around in his seat, looking like the cat that got the cream. It made Geralt more annoyed than it had any right to. 

“Is that really the loudest the radio can go?” The man reached out for his radio and Geralt shot him a glare-- 

“ _ Don’t touch Roach _ .” Rumbled rather threateningly in his opinion. 

The man merely blinked at him and then laughed a little, dropping his arm and huffing. “Roach? You named the car  _ Roach _ ?” 

Geralt grumbled and turned his gaze back to the asphalt, refusing to give that an answer. 

“Well, I suppose I can’t talk. After all, mine’s  _ Jaskier _ .” The man - Jaskier - informed him, waving his hand slightly. Geralt wondered absently if he’d be able to talk if his hands were tied - he had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t. 

“What’s yours?” 

Geralt had known the question was coming, but it still made him grit his teeth. He thought about ignoring him, but the road was long and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle an annoyed attitude for eighty miles. 

Had he mentioned it was eighty miles until the next rest stop?

_ Eighty miles _ . 

“Geralt.” He answered, shortly, and didn’t look over at the soft scoff. 

“Makes sense now.” Jaskier said and, seemingly satisfied, turned his attention to stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth, hands freed up to dig through his bag, looking for something. 

Geralt very nearly  _ stood _ on the brakes when Jaskier pulled out a harmonica. Who even played those anymore? The last time he’d seen one was in a  _ movie _ . 

“Don’t.” Geralt warned and Jaskier paused only a moment. He could feel the weight of his gaze before slowly the man brought the harmonica up to his mouth, trilling along to the song keening grittily out from his shitty speakers. 

_ Bob Dylan _ didn’t sound  _ so _ bad accompanied, at least, which is the  _ only _ reason that Geralt didn’t throw Jaskier out of the car bodily. 

+++

Jaskier tired of harmonica long after Geralt had - but at least the other man had rolled down his own window which let the wind snatch away some of the sound. 

The roar of it eased some of his irritation, though he felt like an animal that had been poked and prodded at over and over until he was close to snapping. 

Jaskier looked physically pained and there was a moment where Geralt thought about prompting him to talk, but he’d been trying to avoid that as long as possible. 

And then  _ Elton John _ came on the radio and all bets were off. It looked like Jaskier might have actually exploded on the spot if he hadn’t let loose his voice - 

“ _ The blues _ \--” Jaskier wailed along and Geralt thought that for wailing, well, it was not as bad as he thought it might be. 

He didn’t let his lips twitch towards a smile, but it was a near thing. The sight of the rest area sign had him hitting the turn signal and exiting off the empty highway. 

The sun had started to dip in the sky, although it hadn’t even begun to pass the horizon. 

Jaskier was still humming the song, although it had lost the words as they both clambered out of the car to stretch their legs. Geralt dug in his pocket for his wallet, tugging out a handful of dollar bills and pressing them into Jaskier’s hands. 

“Go get us some snacks and drinks.” He told him, and made a beeline for the restrooms. 

When he returned, Jaskier was staring at the soda machine. Geralt heaved a sigh and grabbed a couple of the bills, feeding them to the machine and pressing for a classic cola, grabbing it up and cracking it open. 

“Where are you aiming to go, anyway?” Geralt asked, before taking a long sip, moving to the side so that the other man could get a drink. He leaned up against the machine, watching him, head tipped slightly. 

_ Damnit _ . 

Jaskier didn’t look at him - “Not sure yet. Sort of just going where the rides take me.” He answered, bending to grab his own soda - orange Sunkist. 

“So how long, exactly, am I expecting you to tag along?” Geralt lifted his brow. 

“Until you tell me that I’ve got to walk again.” 

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. 

( _ Maybe it would be nice to have a little company. Maybe it would be nice not to travel for days by himself with only Roach as company. Maybe it would be nice. _ )


End file.
